From the Side Street
by Anonymous033
Summary: "It would've been nice to have had a reminder of the foreign-foreign lady who had attacked him for a photograph in a foreign country." Tony and Ziva first meet in Paris. AU; four-parter. Ultimately Tiva.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: ***Wails*

**Spoilers: **None, but there are references to Tiva up to everything Season 8; please take note.

**Notes: **This is AU :P it does involve, albeit fleetingly, a living Kate. And no, I don't bash her. I can't say what the story will or will not involve without giving the entire thing away, so I can only ask of you to please read with an open heart and an open mind. I hope you enjoy.

Also, I didn't mean to make it end up sounding quite so chick lit *facepalm*.

**_-Sophie_**

* * *

**From the Side Street: Chapter 1**

It was one of those all-too-common instances of attraction at first sight.

On his part, anyway.

The lens of his camera glinted in the sun as he raised his hands to take a photograph. Opposite him, his partner snickered, undoubtedly aware of what he was trying to do and being completely disapproving.

"Now, what's wrong with taking a picture of a pretty French lady?" he murmured without lowering the device in his hands. _Snap _went the shutter—and for a brief moment, the eyes of the exotic-looking brunette at the knick-knack shop across the street from the café he sat in flickered towards him, making him fumble with the camera and drop it into his lap.

Caitlin Todd laughed. "Nothing. Just figured you _would _be the one to come to Paris just to _see the sights._"

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her in affront before casting his eyes back across the street. With disappointment, he noted that the exotic-looking brunette was no longer there. "_I _am actually here to do my work. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be off to see the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. Meet you back here later. Don't be late!"

"I think that applies more to you than to me," Kate retorted as he stood up, and he made a face at her before snatching up the keys to his rented moped from the table.

Just for that, he wasn't going to share his ride with her.

xoxo

He hadn't really expected Exotic-Looking Brunette to follow him.

But at one point, he was just passing by a small side-street and there she was, gazing intensely at him. (In hindsight, it was really kind of creepy.) She pulled him hard into the side-street and, in true _DiNozzo _style, he worried first about his suit and then about his safety. He was busy flattening down the crumpled shirt collar and trying not to show that he had damp palms when she stuck her hand out unceremoniously.

"I need that photograph you took of me," she said without preamble.

"You're not French," he said dumbly.

"You are not a complete idiot," she answered crisply. "Now, the photograph?"

"But…" he stuttered. "But it's _mine. _I took it."

"And now I am taking it from you."

"And if I refuse?"

That seemed to perplex Exotic-Looking Brunette, as she tilted her head to one side and furrowed her eyebrows. "You are … ridiculously persistent, aren't you? You took a picture of a stranger who is now holding you hostage in an alley over a photograph, and you are arguing about ownership rights?"

"Rights are important."

Exotic-Looking Brunette rolled her eyes. "I changed my mind; you _are _a complete idiot. I want the photograph—this is me asking nicely."

"Just out of curiosity, what's it like when you don't ask nicely?"

If he'd just had time to prepare his rickety set of lungs before she slammed him into the cobblestone pathway.

Winded, he gasped up at her, noting rather subconsciously that she apparently had no qualms about sitting on top of him. The _conscious _part of him was more worried about the gun she had pressed to his chest.

"Camera," he breathed out, nervously pushing the strap that still hung around his neck towards her. She made quick work of deleting the photograph he had taken, he was disappointed to learn.

It would've been nice to have had a reminder of the foreign-foreign lady who had attacked him for a photograph in a foreign country.

Satisfied that she had now removed all traces of herself from his camera, Exotic-Looking Brunette sat up straight. "Your tourist pictures are still there," she told him with a smirk. "Have a good day. Do not take any more pictures of me."

She had already set one foot out of the side-street before he found his tongue. "Wait!" he foolishly called after her. "What's your name?"

She hesitated for a split-second before turning back. "Sophie Ranier," she answered him, and then she was gone.

xoxo

Sophie Ranier.

_So-phie Ra-ni-er._

That was a French name, wasn't it? It sounded French.

Was it a fake name?

'Cause she didn't look French.

Then again, he had no idea how the French looked.

Maybe she was an immigrant who was now a French national.

Or her family was French nationals who had emigrated.

(To somewhere very hot, because she was slightly dark-skinned.)

And she had come back to visit.

… But was terrified that someone would recognize her as French, and that's why she beat him up over a picture.

That didn't even make any sense.

Hell, he had just gotten beaten up by a _woman _over a picture, and he was worrying about where the woman came from?

(It was a legit worry … but only in the sense that avoiding her might be in order.)

"What are you _muttering _about?" a voice asked him, and his gaze jerked up from the bewildering depths of his coffee to see Kate standing beside his chair and looking puzzled.

"Nothing," he answered. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

He threw a couple of bills onto the aluminium table, hopped onto his moped—Kate hopping on behind him—and resolved not to think about Exotic-Looking Brunette aka Sophie Ranier any longer.

It was killing him, all this thinking. His heart raced way too fast whenever that face flashed through his mind.

xoxo

Ironically enough, it was at the airport that he saw Sophie Ranier next.

He was just sitting there with Kate and the witness they were escorting back to the States to testify in a case when olive skin and luscious brown hair walked by in his peripheral vision.

With incredulous disbelief, he turned his head. And there she was—he was sure of it. She _walked _exactly like Exotic-Looking Brunette, after all.

"Sophie Ranier!" he exclaimed loudly before he could stop himself. "Sophie Ranier!"

The woman's steps faltered for a moment, but then she continued walking quicker than before, and he swore as he shot out of his chair.

"Head. Use," he explained telegraphically to Kate before chasing after Exotic-Looking Brunette. He thought he'd catch up soon enough, but just like the rest of the airport, the Departure Hall was packed, and he watched with disappointment as Exotic-Looking Brunette's back grew smaller in the distance.

He wondered briefly if he should just search every gate for her, but that would be taking it a bit far.

With a dejected sigh, he turned back towards where Kate and the witness were staring agape at him.

He and Exotic-Looking Brunette just weren't meant to be, it seemed.

xoxo

The rude nudge of an elbow against his side irritated him. Already upset to begin with, he looked up, ready to snap at whomever the elbow belonged to, when he stilled at the sight of two sad chocolate eyes.

"Sophie Ranier," he breathed.

"That is not my name, actually." Her gaze drifted off to fix somewhere in the proximity of the floor. "But I cannot believe you actually raced through the airport calling it."

"I thought it was your name," he answered defensively.

"I know," she said. "What I cannot believe is not that you thought it. What I cannot believe is that you _remembered _it, and actually thought enough of it to use it."

He did not have an answer to that. Any answer he could produce would be slightly creepy.

Exotic-Looking Brunette took a deep breath. "My name is Ziva David. I am Israeli."

"Huh." He paused, unsure of what to say. "Israel's our friend."

"I know, and that is why I chose to tell you. If you were to remember me, you might as well remember the right thing."

"_You're _gonna be the woman I wake up fifty years from now thinking about as, 'That one I got beat up by…'"

Ziva snorted indelicately. "Please."

"Tell you what," he proposed, "you give me your email, I'll give you mine. That way, we'll see. Or is that something you're gonna have to hold me at gunpoint over, too?"

A grin made its appearance on her face for the first time. "It might be," she told him, "but I will give it a risk. Hold out your hand."

He did, and she materialized a pen out of nowhere before he could even pat his pockets for one. Each other's email addresses written down, she capped the pen and he closed his palm.

"Where are you headed, anyway?" he asked.

"Israel. I have some business to attend to."

"Oh. I'm going back to the U.S."

"You still haven't told me your name."

"Anthony D. DiNozzo. Junior. Although I'd rather you ditched the 'Junior,'cancelled the 'D.,' and added 'Very Special Agent' in front."

"That sounds like a very long name."

"It befits an NCIS agent," he protested in as dignified a manner as he could muster.

"NCIS?" she questioned.

"It stands for Naval Cri—"

"I know," she interrupted his recitation. "I am just surprised at what an NCIS agent is doing here. Are you on vacation?"

"Just picking up a whistleblower. How come you know so much about NCIS?"

"I am well-read," she merely said. "I have to go now; my flight will be here soon."

"Ziva?" he called lightly as she stood up, and she looked down at him with what appeared to be surprise.

"Yes?"

"Have a good trip."

"You, too," she wished him, and her answering smile was the tiniest bit fond.

xoxo

Tony got the alert that he'd received email the moment he turned on his cell phone at the Dulles International Airport in Virginia, USA.

Ziva had sent him the email she promised.

_Arrived in Israel. I hope you're safe, _it merely said, and he felt a warm flutter in his heart because that was extraordinarily sweet when he considered that it came from someone who was a stranger, relatively speaking.

He still had a job to do, though, so he tucked his phone back inside his pocket, walked with his partner and the witness to where their car was parked, and promised himself to get back to Ziva as soon as he had a moment to himself.

Things were looking up, already.


	2. Chapter 2

******A/N: Hi :D** I know I haven't replied to reviews to the previous chapter yet, and I sincerely apologize for that. My only explanation is that my mum has been dragging me to this health talk that lasted _six nights, _and that I haven't had time to ... well, do anything. I'll try and reply to the reviews today; here's to hoping! But thank you, so much, for all your reviews and favouriting and support. I'm out of virtual chocolates, so could I interest anyone in some ... nutmeg juice?

* * *

**From the Side Street: Chapter 2**

Their email relationship lasted all of two-and-a-half weeks.

Eventually, the novelty of their international friendship and his excitement at her foreign blood began to falter and he was sure he would never meet her again, so the time and effort needed to maintain constant communication with someone he had nothing in common with turned out to be too much.

He genuinely liked her as a person; he really did. She was the _sweetest_ and the _funniest,_ and she had a way of brightening up his entire day. But Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo didn't have many friends for a reason—the reason was that he simply couldn't carry on a conversation with someone he didn't click with. Ziva David was also secretive where she was sweet and tactlessly blunt where she was funny, and the way she interacted with him sometimes made his skin itch uncomfortably. It made Tony feel this gap between them, even after a fortnight, that he couldn't close—and like her he might, but chasing after an emotional intimacy he _couldn't _get was too tiring.

So, he gave up.

Until three weeks later when, out of the blue, he received an email from her: _Back in France._

At first, he thought about ignoring the email. And then, something compelled him to reply. Perhaps it was guilt or perhaps it was reluctance to let go of her just yet, but he heeded the _something _and typed back an answer: _How was the trip home?_

He actually expected her not to answer or to say that she could not talk about it. Thus, he was taken aback when she told him: _It was horrible._

_Do you have to be so tri-word-ic all the time? _he asked rather irritably.

_What? _She sounded confused. _Do not use such big words on me; you know that English is not my forte. I just needed to talk to someone._

_You needed to talk to me?_

She didn't answer that.

It would be so easy to just forget about her again. She was _so hard_ to read. It was _so hard _to keep her from clamming up. Everything about her was _hard._

But, he supposed, she did seem like she could use the company.

So, he emailed her: _Want me to go up there?_

_If you wish to, _was her reply.

And it was insanity, her response. (It was making him itch uncomfortably again.) She had to think he was completely, utterly, undeniably nuts to even _entertain _the notion of visiting her.

But he had too much comp time, and that was Human Resource's fault. Theirs and Gibbs', because his boss worked him hard and he needed to take a vacation before he went crazy … right?

Or maybe he had already gone crazy, and this vacation was just what he needed to regain his sanity.

Oh, yeah, what he needed to regain a semblance of normal life was to hang out in a foreign country with an unreadable, unpredictable ninja chick who would not hesitate to put her gun—Was it even _legal?_—into play.

He always knew he watched too many movies.

_How 'bout you come down here and pay _me _a visit? _he suggested instead._ I'll get you a room or something and bring you around to all the landmarks. It'll be fun._

_Okay, _was all she said. Maybe she was as completely, utterly, undeniably nuts as he was.

That, or she was already trying to figure out how she was going to put her gun into play—on his home turf, no less.

Oh, boy.

xoxo

The next week flew by quickly.

During that time, Tony mind went between Ziva's visit being a good idea and her visit _not _being a good idea. On one hand, he really, _really _liked her. It wasn't because of anything he could name. It wasn't because she was attractive (she was, but she wasn't the best he'd seen) or skilled (she was that, too, but he wasn't, and who wanted to be shown up?) or got along particularly well with him, even (they were like ships in the night, always passing by yet never meeting), but she was present in his every thought (sometimes in a scary way, sometimes not) and his heart skipped more than one beat whenever he thought about her. He couldn't say why he liked her, but he really did.

On the other hand, she was hard to talk to, and she had jammed a gun into his chest and elbowed him in the ribs the only two times they had met face-to-face.

Who _wanted _to spend four days with a woman like that?

It was too late to second-guess his decision, though. The date when he had to pick her up at the airport was looming. He didn't have time to think anymore. He might be one of those men who could leave a one night stand without problem, but that didn't mean he'd leave someone _stranded _at the airport without any relation to turn to. He wasn't that cruel; he wasn't about to ask her to come to a strange place only to decide that he didn't want her there.

That, and the thought of hurting her really hurt him.

Guess he liked her more than he could ever say.

xoxo

She was to arrive at noon on a Monday.

He'd taken the entire week off—four days to take her around and one to send her off —and had woken up early that morning, flitting around his apartment with an anxiety he couldn't place. He tidied up even though she likely wouldn't be seeing his apartment, cooked a big breakfast even though she definitely wouldn't be eating it, and took a shower that … well, was necessary.

At eleven forty-five, he was already dressed, spruced up with cologne, and waiting at the airport. Since he was a little early, he dropped by a coffee shop and got them both drinks. Four creams, two sugars for him, and one cream, one sugar for her because he wasn't sure what she liked but doubted she'd want diabetes in a cup. The errand having been run, his next stop was a newspaper stand where he purchased a magazine to read.

He settled down in the Arrival Hall and waited for her flight to land. It took a while, but at ten past twelve he saw a group of people, who were presumably from her flight and had cleared Customs, pour out into the main waiting area.

So, he stood up and scanned the area.

And there she was.

In heels and a pale yellow dress, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her hair framing her face; lugging a small black suitcase behind her.

She was breath-taking, and he didn't even think she'd been trying.

And then she saw him, and her face melted into a smile that sent his heart thumping. She walked up to him and said awkwardly, "Hello again."

"Hey," he murmured, shoving a hand into his pocket.

Her head dipped the tiniest bit. "I do hope you recognize me, because it's just occurred to me that this would be very pointless if you didn't. I—"

"Of course I recognize you, Ziva." He frowned. "What kind of question is that, anyway?"

"It is legitimate," she protested. "You had seen me for seven minutes in total."

"Trust you to be so precise," he snorted. "Well, it was an impression-leaving seven minutes. I had a gun pointed at me, remember?"

She grimaced. "About that…"

"Don't worry, I've forgiven you," he said, cheerful now that he was done guilting her (he just hoped that gun was legal). He held up his offering. "Coffee?"

There was that heart-thumping smile again. "Thank you. I prefer tea, but this is a _lovely _pick-me-up. Thank you so much."

He shifted on his feet at her words. "We could go get tea now, if you want."

"No, this is fine." Her eyes lingered on his for a moment before darting away shyly. "It is sweet."

"What, the coffee?"

"No, what you've done." She cleared her throat and started walking, not waiting for him to catch up before calling over her shoulder, "So, where will we be going these few days?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Eh, hi :D **okay, so this chapter is, for the most part, nothing like _Along the Way. _Where that series focused quite a bit on the attractions they visited, this one does nothing other than toss names around. The reason for that is because the focus of this fic is on how Tony and Ziva's relationship would be if they had met under different circumstances.

On that same topic, I preserved some canon details where I didn't others (obviously, Kate isn't dead). Which canon details I preserved will at times be left open to interpretation, because that's part of the mystery of this fic. These two characters met under circumstances where one would never have expected them to be casual acquaintances, let alone friends who visit each other, and that's why they're not going to be sharing every single thing they've shared on the show. Despite that, though, rest assured that they do matter very much to each other. After all, they _did _surpass casual acquaintance to become friends who visit each other :P

**Enjoy! **Also, I don't own NCIS.

**_-Soph_**

* * *

**From the Side Street: Chapter 3**

For four glorious days, they did the tourist thing. It was a new experience for Tony—despite having lived in the District of Columbia for years, he had never gone around and gotten to know the metropolitan.

For the four glorious days during which his friend visited, though, he gained a little knowledge on his country's capital and deepened his understanding of who Ziva was.

She was truly an intriguing person, he found out. It was almost as if she were carved from stone, so hard and strong and reserved she was—yet, he learnt almost immediately from her the very personal secret that her younger sister had died at a very young age. The second night of her visit, seated on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, he watched Ziva struggle not tear up as she told him about Tali and the Hamas suicide bombing that had taken the teenager's life.

It was clear that Ziva's grief consumed her from the inside. Young herself at twenty-something, Ziva had had more than her fair bit of pain in her life; this much—though she would not share—was obvious. Her eyes were guarded and flickered sometimes with something that resembled sadness. Her face was masked; her actions careful. She never let anything _slip; _whatever he knew, she had chosen to tell him.

And even though a part of him wondered if she was actually stringing him along for some ulterior motive, he mostly believed what she said. Believed her.

He didn't know why he believed her. Perhaps it was his gut.

Or perhaps it was the one time she watched two little girls, one younger and one older, stand at a storefront and admire some toy or other. It must have reminded her of Tali, he thought, because he had seen the distinct glimmer of tears in her eyes before she hid her face from him.

Whatever it was, it made him desperately want to make her happier.

xoxo

"_A cap or a T-shirt? Pick one."_

"_What?" she asked, turning around with an amused expression at his question._

"_A cap or a T-shirt?" he repeated. "C'mon, you're a visitor in DC—you gotta have one of those. And I know it's not New York City, but everyone knows 'I Heart NYC' T-shirts are overrated anyway. Better 'I Heart DC.'"_

_She laughed and continued to browse through the magnets the tourist stand offered. "Tony, I would not wear a T-shirt advertising a place on it."_

"_So, a cap, then?"_

"_Or a cap."_

_He deflated. "You're no fun, Ziva."_

_She looked up with a pout. "I'm _trying._"_

"_I know," he answered absent-mindedly, his mind already somewhere else. "How 'bout a Washington Monument magnet?"_

"_I'm already planning to get the magnets myself. Speaking of which, you really should not buy me anything. You already paid for my hotel room."_

"_That was good hosting. This is just me being nice."_

_She smirked. "You are not usually nice?"_

"_This is me being extra nice," he corrected. She heaved a breath._

"_Why is this so important to you?"_

"_Because you're my friend!"_

_That made her eyes flicker again with some form of emotion before she glanced away and her walls went up. "You know, when you said we could be friends…" She took a deep breath. "I was not expecting to gain anything from it. Your being here is enough for me, Tony. Really."_

"_Nobody expects to gain anything from friends, Ziva, except perhaps intimacy and goodwill."_

_She shrugged. "You are being _too _good to me. I do not know how to repay you."_

"_Then don't." He reached out and squeezed her hand for a brief second. "Just … be a good hostess the next time I go up to Paris. I expect to be taken 'round to all the quaint little places, since you know the side streets _so well._"_

_She chuckled, peering at him from the corner of her eyes. "You would really like to see Paris again?"_

"_I guess I would," he answered, grinning—and he was pretty sure he hadn't imagined the bashful smile that graced her face before she turned away._

xoxo

Being friends with Ziva didn't come easily.

She wasn't a person who wore her heart on her sleeve, and neither was he; each haunted by demons from pasts which could not be shaken off, it had taken them a lot of trial and error just to get on the same page.

It turned out that their definition of 'friends' vastly differed. Tony was by nature a class clown—friendship was to him something which should be fun and light-hearted; something which could be put aside in the face of other things. This appeared to hurt Ziva, whose idea of friendship apparently involved a steady presence as well as deep and long talks. Whenever Ziva sought from him something he could not offer, then, he balked.

Roles reversed in real life, Tony found. Ziva was the one chasing pointlessly after an emotional intimacy with him here.

xoxo

"_C'mon, really?"_

"_I'm serious!" Ziva exclaimed at his disbelieving chuckle. "They looked like they could be soul mates."_

"_Soul mates don't have a look, Ziva," Tony supplied, "if there was such a thing as 'soul mates.' And there isn't."_

_They'd just finished dinner at one of the more upscale DC restaurants, the one expensive indulgence Ziva had given in to because he'd told her that it was the one thing she had to try. She still disagreed with the (admittedly) exaggerated glowing reviews he had given the place, but she did concede to loving the food. This led somehow to subject of romantic love where the driving force of their conversation was a couple in the restaurant who seemed so chock-full of tangible chemistry it was surreal._

"_So, you don't believe in soul mates?" Ziva persisted, glancing at him out of the side of her eyes. He got a weird sensation at the back of his neck which told him she was again looking for information he could not offer._

"_What's it to you?" he countered nonchalantly._

"_Just curious as to whether you ever think about soul mates."_

"_Only in the context of that disco thing," he answered with faux-dreaminess. "Big hit, mid-seventies; they were on the Decca."_

_She muttered something that sounded like "Forget it" and then started walking faster, leaving him behind. He pressed his lips together._

"_Ziva, wait for me," he ordered, increasing the length of his strides. "You know you're not supposed to go wandering around the city alone in the dark."_

"_I can take care of myself."_

"_Well, you're my guest. I think I'm supposed to have to account for you in some way."_

"_Is that it?" She stopped suddenly, causing him to overshoot her. As he wheeled back to face her, it occurred to him that she was looking unexpectedly more hysterical than usual. "You want to account for me, and that's why you have been taking me around?"_

"_Yeah, I wasted five days of comp time on you because I just _had _to know where you were. I'm _that _creepy," he retorted sarcastically. Her eyes grew even shinier._

"_You think you wasted them on me?" she asked._

_And perhaps it was her slightest emphasis on 'wasted,' but it made him feel even guiltier. Angrily, he kicked the curb of the pavement. "Why are we even doing this? We got along at dinner. Tell me, Ziva, is there a reason you're bringing all this stuff up? Do you think I'm not doing a good enough job or something?"_

_He thought he heard her breath hitch._

"_No," she said quietly, "I think you are doing more than an adequate job."_

"_Then what the hell is the problem?"_

"_There is no problem," she replied stiffly, shaking her head. "Let's just … move on."_

"_No." He stopped her in her tracks with a hand to her shoulder. "You don't get to open this can of worms and then just 'move on.' I want to know. What am I doing wrong?"_

_She shook her head again. "It is not that you are doing anything wrong."_

"_Then _what _are you blaming me for?"_

"_It is-… it is just that you joke a lot," she murmured. "And sometimes I need an honest answer, but you cannot provide me with one."_

"_This is rich, coming from the woman who's harder to crack than a criminal."_

_She shrugged. "I told you about my sister. I don't know what else you want me to say."_

_He sighed. "Well, why the hell, of all things, did you want to know how I felt about soul mates?"_

_(Was it a trick of the light, or did her bottom lip tremble?)_

"_Perhaps it'd just be nice to know that … someone, somewhere, believes in love that's worthwhile," she mumbled ambiguously—and there it was, the cat out of the bag._

_Ziva didn't think anyone would find love worthwhile._

_She didn't thinking anyone would find loving _her _worthwhile._

_It was such barely masked vulnerability, his heart literally ached on her behalf._

"_Y'know, I'm not the ultimate authority on this sort of stuff," he started. She opened her mouth to say something, but he quietened her. "You're gonna find your guy. I'm sure of it."_

_She looked up at him through wet lashes. "How do you know?"_

"_Call it faith." He gave her a small smile. "Call it knowing something about you. You're kinda hard to pass by."_

_She sniffled, the corners of her lips curling up. "Thank you," she said thickly._

_Choosing to skip a formal reply, he held out his hand instead. "C'mon," he said. "Got something to show you."_

xoxo

It surprised him that, at the end of the day, he found Ziva quite indispensable to him.

She was one of those women who could only take their time growing on you. Socially unconventional, it'd taken her forever to warm up to him; yet, once she had, he'd discovered what he could only call a rare gem.

It was going to be so hard to let her go.

xoxo

"_I am going to miss this," she confessed quietly as they stood by the security checkpoint—the farthest he could see her off._

_He smiled, his heart tripping over itself as she shuffled closer to him. "So am I."_

_She gave a single nod. "Promise me you will stay in touch."_

"_If I didn't, I have a feeling you would hunt me down, anyway," he quipped._

"_You did not stay in touch the last time," she reminded him._

"_I know. It was the wrong move," he said, and her eyes widened infinitesimally. "I'll definitely stay in touch with you this time, Ziva."_

"_Good." Her voice sounded on the verge of cracking. "Now I have to go."_

_He reached out a hand, ready to give her a parting handshake, and then caught them both off-guard by pulling her into a hug. "Take care," he whispered into her ear, patting her on the back._

_It was about as casual a hug as they could pull off, but her eyes were once again shiny when they pulled apart._

"_I will. You take care, too," was all she said before she turned away and dragged off her little suitcase. _

_He was left the impression that they had perhaps said more than they meant to._

_He gave her one last wave as she got into line at the security checkpoint, and then he departed, stepping back into a world consisting of work and a life without her by his side._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Hi, everyone! So here's the last chapter! It's been a wild ride, I think, despite the fact that this is a relatively short multi-chapter, and I want to thank you all for the support and encouragement you've given me. Seriously, _thank you. _You'll never know how much it means to me.

And where Tony and Ziva's AU story comes to an end, I take my leave. I'll see you all in the next story!

**Love,**

**-_Sophie_**

* * *

**From the Side Street: Chapter 4**

From: Anthony DiNozzo

To: Ziva David

Sent: Monday, March 1, 2010 9.03AM

Subject: I'm Bored

_The Subject says everything._

_-Tony_

xoxo

From: Ziva David

To: Anthony DiNozzo

Sent: Monday, March 1, 2010 3.15PM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_Do work._

_-Ziva_

xoxo

From: Anthony DiNozzo

To: Ziva David

Sent: Monday, March 1, 2010 5.04PM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_It's not interesting without you here._

_-Tony_

xoxo

From: Ziva David

To: Anthony DiNozzo

Sent: Monday, March 1, 2010 5.59PM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_I never saw you at your work, anyway._

_-Ziva_

xoxo

From: Anthony DiNozzo

To: Ziva David

Sent: Monday, March 1, 2010 7.21PM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_Good point you have there. You should come visit me at my work._

_-Tony_

xoxo

From: Ziva David

To: Anthony DiNozzo

Sent: Monday, March 2, 2010 12.01AM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_I have already visited you. I believe it is your turn to come visit me?_

_-Ziva_

xoxo

From: Anthony DiNozzo

To: Ziva David

Sent: Monday, March 2, 2010 12.59AM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_I can't get away from work so soon. Maybe in a few weeks, but I doubt it'll be anytime in the immediate future. My boss is pissed I took a week off._

_-Tony_

xoxo

From: Ziva David

To: Anthony DiNozzo

Sent: Monday, March 2, 2010 3.41AM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_I'm sorry I angered your boss. Please go to bed; we will discuss this when you wake up._

_-Ziva_

xoxo

From: Anthony DiNozzo

To: Ziva David

Sent: Monday, March 2, 2010 8.42AM

Subject: Re: I'm Bored

_I _was _in bed. And eh, Gibbs will live._

_-Tony_

xoxo

It would be almost an entire year before Tony saw Ziva again.

He missed Ziva terribly during that time, though he would never admit to it; she turned into his first and last orders of business every day, and his thoughts strayed to her far too often in between.

It was nice, keeping this email relationship. Since things were different this time around, they managed to find a common ground they could stand on—his work. He would share his experiences with her. She would offer him surprisingly mature and well-thought-out input. He never asked her the reason she knew so much about the nature of his job because he sensed that it was linked to something untouchable in her past, but it was comforting to know that she was there for him.

The one thing they wouldn't talk about was the status of their relationship, though. To Tony, it was more than friendship, but not quite a _romantic relationship. _He didn't know what it was to Ziva. He hoped desperately, as selfish as it was, that she didn't have someone waiting with dinner and warm arms every evening for her to get home from work. He didn't know what he'd do if they drifted apart because she had somebody else to occupy her attention. Some days, he practically _lived _for her emails.

Ten months later, he'd finally garnered enough comp time and brownie points from his boss to take another week off. He told Ziva, who sent him a welcome that warmed his heart.

So, he hopped on a plane.

Eight hours later, he found himself setting foot inside the Charles de Gaulle Airport, where Ziva stood waiting for him with a smile and a cup of coffee (four creams, two sugars).

"Hi," he said, and the force of her responding hug almost knocked the coffee right out of her own hands.

xoxo

"So, this is your place."

He looked around the one-bedroom apartment, taking in the cream walls and the splash of purple that served as a couch. It was nice. It matched well. He hadn't expected Ziva's apartment to look so girly, if he were to be honest with himself. She did have her soft side, certainly, but the window ledge padded with cushion and soft throw pillows wasn't something he would have associated with her. Nor was the white-themed kitchen straight ahead of him.

"I hope this is okay," she said from behind him, and he turned to see her somewhat fidgeting. She added nervously, "I would have gotten you a hotel room, but you gave me shorter notice than I expected. Not that I'm blaming you. I just—"

"Ziva, it's fine."

"—haven't been earning as much as I thought I would be, and—"

"Zi, it's fine," he repeated, walking up to stand toe-to-toe with her. "Show me around."

She coloured profusely under his gaze. "It is a two-room apartment. There's nothing to show."

"Sure there is. I haven't been introduced to the couch yet."

She laughed, the tense lines on her forehead melting away. "Tony, you do not need introductions to a sofa."

"I need introductions to everything." He waved a hand at the overall space around them. "Show me your life, Ziva; I want to know what you've been doing for yourself."

And so, she did.

Five minutes later found them seated on her couch, slumping against unexpectedly divine cushions and catching up on the rest of their news.

"So," he started, deciding to dive right into the important stuff. "How's it been, living in France? You find any interesting French guys yet?"

She looked confused by his question. "No. Was I supposed to have?"

He laughed. "No, you're not _supposed _to have. I was just wondering if you've found anyone to share your life."

"Oh," she answered softly.

"Yeah."

"Well … there was a man named Ray. He was a U.S. national here on business."

"Where is he now?" Tony asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as strangled as he thought it did.

"Back in the U.S," she answered, seeming to eye him carefully. "He was sweet. But in the end, the interest he invoked in me wasn't enough."

"Oh? He wasn't charming enough?"

"Ray was charming, but charm isn't enough for me," Ziva explained, "Not when I am looking for something more. I am just … hoping to find someone who's _different; _someone who isn't merely sweet or charming but … who could complement me, too."

"And have you found that person?"

She didn't answer him for the longest moment. And then finally, with a shaky voice, she said randomly, "I am thinking about moving to the U.S."

"To look Ray up?" he asked.

She licked her lips. "I am thinking about moving to the U.S., somewhere closer to DC."

"Where does Ray live?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Stop making this about Ray. If this were about Ray, then I would have told you already. This is about _you._"

"_M-me?_" he stuttered out of reflex. The room fell so silent, with him staring at her and her staring at the couch, that it was almost as if they were two statues left forsaken.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, searching for words to answer her—something, _anything—_and ending up spitting out an, "Okay."

"'Okay'?"

"Yea—wel—I don't know what to say." His every limb quaked from the adrenaline rush.

But when her shoulders slumped and she nodded, he knew 'Okay' had definitely been the wrong answer. "You don't have to say anything," she told him, and before he knew it, he had his hands around her arms. It startled her enough to make her head snap up—and god, her red-rimmed, glittering eyes were going to be the death of him.

"Come," he pleaded her. "Come home with me. I'll help you look for a job, a place to live—you could move in with me. Or maybe not, 'cause then you'd have to camp out on the floor with an air mattress, but it's an idea—"

"Tony, slow down," she said, tears in her laughter. She wiped at her cheek with a surreptitious thumb. "It is not that easy to obtain a visa."

"But we could try," he persisted.

"We could," she echoed hesitantly. "Does that mean my plan has your approval?"

This time, he heard what she was asking him. _Does that mean you want me there?_

"Yes," he answered definitively, and only then did she really dare to meet his eyes.

He could've sworn she blushed when he gave in to the impulse of kissing her.

xoxo

"It seems that we only meet in airports."

The fall of the year 2011 was beautiful and marked the last time Tony would have to take time off work because of a long-distance relationship with Ziva. After half a year of decidedly wearing suspense, filled with the uncertainty of obtaining permission to enter his homeland and the unpleasantness of ensuing arguments, she was finally _there,_ in his arms and ready to begin a new life with him by her side.

It was a joyous occasion, and so the tea he had gotten her had been decorated with the little face of a cat drawn in blue marker—he was no artist.

They broke off their hug; he handed her the tea, picked up her bag, kissed her on the cheek, and told her he begged to differ because he seemed to remember having first bumped into her in an alley.

And then, he looped an arm around hers and stepped out with her into the bustling new day.

Oh, they were absolutely going to have the time of their lives.


End file.
